


won't complain if you turn on the light

by singerofsimplesongs



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Chronic Illness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Vomiting, i gave it to tk as an act of love, illness mention, mentions of Alex, mentions of owen and gwyns bad parenting, mentions of past substance abuse, no beta we die like tim, spoilers for 2x08, this writer has celiac disease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29938062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singerofsimplesongs/pseuds/singerofsimplesongs
Summary: “Man, it is halal, gluten-free, nitrate-free, because y'all are the hardest bunch of people to cook for.”Most people, when discussing dietary restrictions with the Strands, assumed that Owen went gluten free first, and TK just followed. They'd be wrong.Carlos’ deep dive into gluten free living happens like this.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Comments: 37
Kudos: 332





	won't complain if you turn on the light

**Author's Note:**

> title is from house key by scott helman which is on both my tarlos playlist and my girlfriend playlist

Carlos’ deep dive into gluten free living happens like this. 

He’s got his arm around TK’s waist. TK is practically sitting on him and his head is tucked under Carlos’ chin. He’s warm and smells like woodsmoke, and Carlos is really only half following the conversation bouncing back and forth across the table between the crew. He’d finished his shift for the night and known that Paul was probably cooking up something at the firehouse. He’s hungry, and tired, and very clearly not paying attention to the conversation at all because the table bursts out laughing and he has no clue what’s been said. 

“Anyway,” Captain Strand says (Carlos can’t yet bring himself to call him Owen), “that’s how we figured it out.” 

TK leans back a little so he can mumble, “that’s another reason I freaked that night at your house. The bread.” 

Suddenly the conversation he was half listening to slams back into him and he sits upright. 

“You have celiac disease,” he says dazedly, like he just got smacked in the back of the head. 

The whole table goes silent and stares, open mouthed, not at him, but at TK. 

Paul makes a tsk sound. 

“Damn TK,” he says, shaking his head. “You didn’t tell your own boyfriend about your severe dietary restriction? That’s cold.” 

TK’s hands start fidgeting, a clear sign that he’s nervous. He’s suddenly very interested in the wood grain on the table. He pulls at the hair on the back of his neck. 

Carlos places his hand over TK’s fidgety fingers and squeezes. This isn’t a conversation they have to have here, so Carlos just shrugs and kisses TK’s temple. 

“You’ve had a lot going on the past few months,” he says. “I get it.” 

Less than ten minutes later, the alarm goes off, and the 126 is suiting up to head to a house fire. Carlos kisses his boyfriend goodbye, and heads home. 

~~~

“I thought I told you I don’t eat gluten.” 

TK comes bursting through the front door several hours later and looks stricken, almost spooked. 

Carlos, who’s been laying on the couch in his pajamas, nods. He feels bad that his boyfriend has clearly been thinking about this all night. 

“I thought,” Carlos says slowly, “that was because your dad doesn’t eat it. Not because you have a very serious autoimmune disease.” 

TK pulls at the sleeve of his hoodie and grimaces. 

“My dad doesn’t eat it because of me.” 

Carlos nods again and they’re silent for a while. TK is still fidgeting, but he’s slowly settling on the couch. Carlos gives him time to process. 

“You think it’s serious?” 

“Hm?” 

“Celiac,” TK says. “You think it’s serious.”

“I —“ Carlos can feel his eyebrows knit together. “Yeah. Of course.” 

Carlos reaches for him and pulls him in between his legs so TK can lean against him. 

“Do you think it’s serious, TK?” he asks. 

“Yeah I mean— look I got diagnosed a little while after I started working with my dad. He noticed I was really not doing so well, and since I was a recovering addict we kinda just figured it was that for a while? But then I was still losing weight and at one point I thought I just kept getting the stomach flu.

“It wasn’t until we were on a call responding to a lady who was hypovolemic because she got glutened that we figured there might be something wrong with my diet.” 

There’s long silence and then -- 

“Alex didn’t think it was serious. At least he didn’t treat it like it was.”

Carlos can feel the dark look that passes across his face. He has a lot of feelings about Alex, but none of them he can voice out loud yet. TK needs his own space to heal, he doesn’t need Carlos to saddle him with his own feelings about his awful ex. Carlos files this away, another thing to bitch to Michelle about on their next zoom call. 

TK has his head against Carlos’ shoulder and he’s looking up at him through the corners of his eyes. He’s doing that thing where he’s pulling his lips in. TK can’t keep his face still at the best of times, but he tends to pull the silliest faces when he’s stressed. 

Carlos kisses the top of his head. 

“Why are so you nervous about this, _cari_ _ñ_ _o_? It’s okay.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“You don’t owe me anything about your life, TK. I want to know. I want to know all of it. But you’re allowed to tell me things at your own pace, and I’m not going to rush you on anything.” 

TK gives him that small, reserved, absolutely dopey smile that Carlos thinks is one of the cutest things he’s ever seen, and reaches over to play with Carlos’ fingers. 

“Thanks babe.” 

“Now, tell me how to make this place a safe place for you to eat.” 

TK grins at him. 

~~~

Over the next several weeks, Carlos deep cleans his condo on his days off. He’s texting Captain Strand and Paul almost constantly asking for tips on how to share his space with TK. Paul gives him general tips on how to keep a kitchen safe since he does a lot of the cooking at the firehouse, and Cap gives him more TK specific tips like what he likes to have on hand when he gets glutened, and what his favorite comfort foods are. 

He clears a whole cabinet, places a storage container in the fridge, splurges maybe a little too much on various types of flour, and even checks out an organic market Captain Strand recommends. He gets a separate set of pots and pans (with iridescent rainbow accents just to be cheeky) that he can cook things specifically for TK without worrying about cross contamination. 

**Paul [19:38]: have you read those articles about how people w celiac can get cross contaminated from kissing?**

**Carlos [19:39]: Please tell me you’re joking.**

**Paul [19:39]: i am not better start carrying a toothbrush around officer**

Carlos huffs out a laugh and pockets his phone, but not before putting a travel toothbrush kit in his amazon cart. Just in case. 

When TK comes over a few nights later and spots the new pile of gluten free cookbooks on Carlos’ counter, that stupid shy half smile that seems to only be directed at Carlos appears on his face. 

“Oh god,” he says softly. “You went crazy didn’t you?” 

“Too much?” Carlos winces. 

TK shakes his head, once, twice as if trying to convince himself. He runs his hand over his mouth but his grin is peeking out from under it. 

“Babe, are those _rainbow_ pots and pans?” he teases. “And you bookmarked recipes? Already?”

Something under Carlos’ sternum aches seeing TK so surprised. TK has made it clear through absentminded comments and aborted gestures that his last boyfriend didn't shower him in the affection and care he so deserves. And Carlos has noticed over the past several months that maybe TK didn’t get that care and affection at home much either. How anyone could look at TK, look at everything he is and not make it clear to him that he is loved and cared for. How anyone could find out TK had a very serious autoimmune disease and not make sure every inch of their space was safe for him. It baffles him. 

Carlos reaches a hand out to his boyfriend and pulls him in with a quick tug. He drapes his arms over TK’s shoulders and buries a kiss into his neck. 

“I just want to make sure you’re safe here,” he murmurs into his neck. 

He can feel TK smiling again against his temple. 

“Can’t believe I’m gonna have a big strong police officer to make sure my food is safe from now on.” 

“You’re damn right you are. I’ll interrogate every chef in Austin just for you.” 

“Only in Austin? That’s a really narrow range, babe. What kind of cop are you?” 

Carlos spins TK around, kissing him hard. He presses his forehead against his when they pull apart. 

“You’re such a brat,” he laughs. 

“You love it.” 

He does. God, he does. 

~~~

Once his condo has been sorted and he and TK have a system to keep gluten-y things separate, he moves onto recipes. TK mentions that he misses fresh loaves of bread, donuts, and, of course, decent pizza crust. He has a whole rant about how dense gluten free baking is, how so many alternatives to his favorite desserts are just so heavy. 

“I just want a decent fluffy donut so bad” he says one morning when they drive past the Krispy Kreme on Stassney. “They’re all just cake. I don't want cake for breakfast, Carlos, I want a donut.” 

Carlos laughs as TK stares longingly at the popular donut chain. 

According to TK, Captain Strand has also spent a lot of time figuring out gluten free recipes, but he also tends to make them more keto, and “sometimes I just want things that taste like before, ya know?” 

For several weeks, their schedules don’t quite line up. He sees TK out on calls, but they hardly have an overlapping day off. On the rare occasion he and TK do have shared days off, they pick recipes out of his Test Kitchen cookbooks. Or he cooks him some of his family’s recipes, which for the most part are corn or rice based— and safe— as long as he doesn’t use flour tortillas.

If TK is working on his days off, he ends up elbows deep in baked goods he can bring by the firehouse. Cupcakes and cookies, anyone will eat, and he enjoys the look on TK’s face when he tries another one of Carlos’ cupcakes (plus he gets frosting on his nose about half the time and it’s cuter than it should be).

**Paul [09:53]: a friend of mine who works at austin medical center says if you turn the oven up about 50 degrees higher when it preheats and then turn it down to the temp you want when you put it in it helps things stay fluffy**

**Paul [09:53]: something to do with the moisture content evaporating in a specific way. if you have the test kitchen books she says the scones recipe goes over it**

**Carlos [11:08]: Thanks! Though arent you a firefighter? Shouldnt you understand the chemistry of that?**

**Paul [12:15]: dude i know how things burn I do not know the science of gluten free baked goods**

**Paul [12:15]: she also says if youre willing to splurge on a bread maker its worth it for bread and definitely for pizza**

**Paul [12:15]: also you can kinda whip pizza dough with a mixer if you mix it long enough?**

**Carlos [13:22]: Can she be my friend too? TK and I might appreciate more of her insight.**

**Paul [13:22]: ill ask. she might be willing to tolerate you :P**

He saves the bread until he knows it’s perfect. He definitely hits the sourdough stage of quarantine hard, but after several months and some aggressive TLC on a very fragile sourdough starter, he thinks it’s pretty close. He even has Paul test it first and then they make a plan for him to bring it by the station when Paul is making something it’ll pair well with. 

The look TK gives him when he places it on the table is almost wounded. 

“How dare you betray me like this Carlos Reyes, bringing bread that looks that good here.” 

“How dare you think I would bring bread here that you can’t eat.” 

TK’s eyes flash rapidly between him and the bread.

“No. There’s no way that’s gluten free that looks way too perfect.” 

Carlos shrugs and lifts one eyebrow. 

“I made it for you,” he says. 

TK looks down again at the bread and mouths a couple of unintelligible words. When he looks up again, something that looks suspiciously like tears shines in his eyes. 

Captain Strand comes into the kitchen then. He looks at the bread on the table and then up at Carlos with that shocked, surprised look of his.

“Officer Reyes,” he says. “That’s not gluten free sourdough, is it?”

“It is, sir.”

Captain Strand beams at him. 

“That looks better than anything I’ve ever made. Nice work.”

“Yeah Dad,” TK says. “Way better than anything you’ve ever made.” 

TK once told Carlos that his dad tried to make a sourdough loaf with sauerkraut and it did not go well. Carlos has looked it up, and it is something you can do, but when it goes wrong, it goes really really wrong. 

They all sit down to eat. Paul has made a hearty potato based soup to go with it, since the weather has just started to get cooler again. TK is tucked into his side as he tears into a piece of bread. Carlos holds his breath as he chews.

TK pulls a face and then puts his head down on the table. He exhales loudly and then turns his head to look at Carlos. He definitely has tears in his eyes this time.

“Babe,” he sighs. “This is amazing.”

From behind him, Marjan asks, “dude, are you _crying_?”

“I am, actually. Because I am man enough to admit that I am emotional about the very good bread my boyfriend made me.” 

“Oh, TK gets very emotional about bread,” Captain Strand pipes up. “He cried in the grocery store on our first gluten free shopping trip for our firehouse in New York.” 

Carlos looks down at his boyfriend who’s still flopped onto the table. He reaches for him and wipes a tear out of his eye. 

“It’s true,” TK sounds muffled. “Some old lady was so excited that she got a loaf that was warm and I cried right there in the checkout line when she told me I should get some too.” 

Carlos moves his hand from TK’s face and buries it in his hair. He kisses the top of his head. 

“I’m hoping these are good tears then.” 

TK gives him that bashful grin of his and Carlos melts. 

~~~

Several months pass and they get into a rhythm. The 126 comes to hang more at Carlos’ house and Carlos, Paul, and TK catch Marjan and Mateo up on the ins and outs of gluten free living. Grace, at one point during one of their full firehouse gatherings, sits Carlos down and asks several questions about celiac disease and cooking for TK. Carlos doesn't miss Tommy hovering on the edge of the conversation, listening to his points with sharp eyes and even sharper ears.

Carlos also doesn’t miss Gwyn sneaking ho-hos around the station and leaving crumbs on the counters. 

Things are crazy for a while. Tim dies, the crew goes out to battle the San Angelo fire, TK hopscotches through a minefield and decides to become a paramedic, the pandemic finally quiets down. But TK and Carlos are solid. Carlos has been slowly phasing gluten containing things out of his condo as he and TK get closer and more serious, and he’s slowly getting the crew to drink more gluten free beers and ciders when they’re over. No one minds really, they all want TK to have a safe space in what is slowly becoming his home, but Carlos doesn’t think TK has noticed the subtle changes around the kitchen. Some partners, Carlos knows, don’t utilize an entirely gluten free home, but something about that doesn’t sit quite right with him. There’s too much room for error. He can keep snacks in his desk at work. He can grab takeout from any restaurant in the city that isn’t gluten free. 

He worries, sometimes, about how he’s going to bring this all up with his parents. Someday, he wants to be able to bring TK home, but he still isn’t sure how he’s going to explain to his family that he fell for a firefighting, severely gluten intolerant _gringo_ (and a Yankees fan to boot). The important part though, is that the family he and TK are building together -- the 126, Grace, Michelle, even some of Carlos’ cousins that know about TK-- all love TK and want to make sure he’s safe. 

Carlos meets the 126 for lunch one afternoon while he’s still on shift. It's a fast casual place that he and TK frequent enough even on off days that they know them pretty well at this point and TK feels safe eating there. It helps, Carlos thinks, that they both frequently show up in uniform. Not that Carlos would arrest someone for glutening his boyfriend, but it does give him an edge when he’s asking about their cross contamination practices. 

They order their usual. TK gets a burger and fries, and presses up against Carlos in the booth with a grin, sipping on his strawberry milkshake. 

They’re all laughing as Paul recounts the crazy call they had earlier in the day, when a petite woman in an apron appears at the end of the table. She clears her throat, sweeps her eyes over Carlos and his uniform, and swallows. 

Carlos knows, before she opens her mouth, what she’s about to say. He holds his breath and hopes he’s wrong.

“Sir,” she clenches her jaw as she addresses TK. “We think there's been a mix up. We have a new guy in the kitchen, and I think he accidentally made your milkshake with malt powder.”

The entire table freezes and looks over at TK, who’s still got the milkshake straw in his mouth, mid-sip. TK immediately makes a face, pulls his basket of fries toward himself, and dramatically spits his mouthful of milkshake into the ketchup container. 

“Well. Then,” TK says cheerily, “can we get some to-go containers? We’re gonna have to pack this up and head back to the station because I’m gonna need a toilet in about 20 minutes.” 

Carlos’ radio crackles with a voice from dispatch seconds later asking him his location, and the 126 jump up to start packing the table. The poor woman is almost frantic now, apologizing profusely to TK and offering the group a comp on their entire meal. She won’t look Carlos in the eye, and he thinks that’s partially due to the stormy look on his face. 

Which isn’t directed at her really, it's more directed at the fact that he still has two more hours left in his shift and his boyfriend is about to be, from what he’s gathered from Owen and TK, extremely ill. 

They get their food packed and all head to their vehicles parked outside. Nancy is trying to usher TK into the rig and saying some choice words about probies in kitchens. Paul, Mateo, and Marjan are all leaning against the ladder truck, scowling into the window of the restaurant. Tommy pokes her head out the back of the ambulance, where she had taken her food to go so she could FaceTime her girls, to see what the commotion is. 

Carlos reaches out to grab TK’s wrist before he climbs up into the ambulance. 

“You gonna be okay?” Carlos asks as he presses a kiss to the side of TK’s head.

TK grimaces, “um. Probably not. If I just drank a good two-thirds of a malt, I’m gonna be sick for a few days.”

Carlos frowns.

“Do you want me to grab anything when I get off shift?”

TK shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “I’ll probably just take a lyft back to my place once we get back to the station and I can talk to Tommy about getting the next day or two off.” 

“You can go to mine, ” Carlos says softly. “I have some of your stuff stocked in the pantry for this.” 

TK grins at him but doesn't say anything. He glances over at the ambulance before pulling Carlos in for a hard kiss. He’s tossing an “I love you” over his shoulder before Carlos even realizes he’s pulled away. TK climbs into the driver’s seat and flips the siren on. Carlos can see Nancy roll her eyes but she’s laughing. 

Carlos sighs and radioes into dispatch to tell them he’s back online and ready to go, but he’s worried about TK for the entirety of the next call. 

He texts him a few times to see how he’s doing, but doesn’t get much more than a confirmation that the shake was indeed a malt and that he’s camping out next to his toilet. He debates asking his captain if he can get off early, but TK has been dealing with this for the better part of a decade. TK’s done this before, he’s been navigating celiac disease and a firefighter diet on his own just fine. But Carlos doesn't want him to be on his own. It bothers him that TK said he’d go back to his own place instead of Carlos’ condo. 

He’s aware that TK is probably embarrassed. He knows how his boyfriend’s brain works, and he’s most likely blaming himself for not realizing something was off with the milkshake sooner. And while he and Carlos have exposed very intimate parts of themselves to each other, he hasn’t yet seen TK when he’s violently ill. He knows it’s a lot, he knows TK gets pretty sick, especially since he’s so far removed from his diagnosis, and he knows that TK has had previous partners that didn’t want to see this part of TK. 

And as much as Carlos doesn’t ever want to see TK so sick, he does want to be there for him when he is. He knows someday he wants all of TK, to love and to cherish, for better, for richer, in health. But that doesn’t come without the sickness, the poorer, the worse. 

He finishes his shift and tells his boss that he’s going to be out the next couple days. 

He spends a few minutes sitting in the camaro, trying to figure out if he should call TK first, or just head over to the Strand’s house and offer his support. Judd Ryder’s face pops up on his car play screen and solves his dilemma for him. 

“Judd?” he answers.

“Hey Reyes. Your shift done?”

“Yeah,” he feels something cold settle in his gut. “Why, whats up?”

“TK’s still at the station. That malt hit him pretty fast, and he didn’t trust himself calling a lyft. You wanna come pick him up?” 

“Yeah, I’m on my way. Thanks, Judd.”

“Do not thank me. Your boy’s a mess, and we’d all feel a lot better if someone was taking care of him.”

Carlos experiences a brief flash of anger when he wonders why TK’s own mother couldn’t come help her son, who’s currently laid out on a bathroom floor, but buries it. He turns down the streets he’s mapped onto his heart, the streets between him and TK, and goes to collect his boyfriend.

He finds said boyfriend curled up on the floor of the firehouse bathroom, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his ridiculous sticker-covered water bottle next to him. 

“Carlos,” TK moans. “Carlos, I’m dying.”

“How unfortunate. And to think I was just starting to like you.” 

TK huffs and pouts at him, “don’t tease me when I’m down like this.

Carlos softens and gingerly sits down next to TK. He’s pale, his forehead shining with sweat. 

“I’m sorry, babe” Carlos murmurs, running a hand through TK’s hair. “You look awful.”

“God,” TK says, as he leans into Carlos’ touch. “You’re so rude.” 

Judd appears in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes locked on TK. 

“How you feelin’ kid?” he asks. 

TK shrugs and leans against Carlos’ shoulder. Carlos kisses the top of his sweaty head. 

“I drank a _malt_ you guys. I, literally, might actually die,” TK finally says. “I’m gonna shit myself to death.”

Carlos can practically feel Judd wince behind him, but he might also be laughing. He ignores him and places a gentle hand on the small of TK’s back. 

“You will not. Not on my watch. But let’s get up off this floor so I can take you home and keep you hydrated, yeah?” 

TK groans and pulls himself up into a sitting position against the toilet. 

“Can you look away for a sec? I’m gonna throw up again.” 

“I promise you I will still think you’re cute, even if I have to watch you throw up.”

“Ew, no. Carlos, look away.” 

Carlos laughs, pulls himself up, and turns to Judd right as he hears TK dry heave over the toilet. 

“Judd can you grab me some emesis bags from the rig? He’s gonna need something for the ride home.”

TK scoffs, “emesis bags, so pretentious” from behind him. 

“Can I make sure my sick boyfriend is taken care of without comments from the peanut gallery?” Carlos calls over his shoulder. 

TK’s groan echoes out of the toilet bowl. 

Carlos makes his way to TK’s locker, grabbing his wallet and his keys for him. He lays a blanket he bought months ago just in case over his passenger seat, and tucks some of the green bags from the ambulance into the cup holders. 

Marjan notices Carlos collecting TK’s things and stops rolling up the hoses to look over at him. 

“Is he okay? He’s been trying to hide it since we got back, but he looked terrible the last time he was out here.” 

“Honestly?” Carlos says. “He looks pretty bad. I might have to take him into the ER later if I can’t keep him hydrated.”

“We could probably get Tommy to bolus him before you go. TK already breaks enough rules around here, what’s one more?”

Carlos laughs. 

“He had enough energy to sass me while he had his head over the toilet, so I think he’s okay for now. But I’ll keep that in mind if he stops cracking jokes later. I’d rather not bring him to the ER and expose him to anything while he’s like this.” 

“Careful now,” Marjan says. “TK would still be cheeky with you on his deathbed. Don’t make that the lynchpin of your assessment.”

She winks at him and goes back to her work.

When he gets back into the bathroom, TK is laying across one of the benches with a cool towel across his forehead. 

“Surprised you aren’t pooping,” Carlos says. 

TK doesn’t miss a beat and replies, “already did that earlier. We’re in the vomity migraine stage now. We’ll circle back shortly, don't worry.” 

“Hm, cute.”

TK sticks his tongue out from under his washcloth. 

“You said I’d still be cute, Carlos. I’m holding you to that.” 

“Please do. Now let’s get you in the car, vomity migraine man.” 

He gets TK settled in the passenger seat, still with his blanket, water, and now a bag in between his knees and he steers them toward home. 

Suddenly TK says, “you can just drop me off at my place. My mom is home, and my dad’s shift ends in a couple hours. I’ll be fine.” 

Carlos is so surprised he almost slams on the brakes in the middle of an intersection. 

“You’re joking.” 

TK rolls his eyes to look at him. 

“No?” his voice has lost its teasing edge and now it’s sharper, more firm. “I’ve done this plenty of times by myself. You don’t have to hold my hand through it.” 

Ah. He’s going to need a drink when he facetimes Michelle this week. 

“You mean you’ve done this on your own when you were with Alex. And your parents have let you do this on your own.” 

“What does—“ 

Carlos cuts him off. 

“You’re not going to do this on your own when you’re with me. I know I don’t _have_ to hold your hand through this. But I _want_ to.” 

TK blinks at him. 

“But I should have known,” TK says quietly, almost to himself. 

Carlos flicks his turn signal on and pulls the car to the side of the road. 

“What are you doing? Why are we stopping? Carlos, no, I don’t think you realize how dire this is, I might shit my pants in the camaro.”

“Tyler Kennedy Strand, I want you to look me in the eyes when I say this to you.”

Green eyes flick up to meet his. 

“I do not care if you shit your pants in this car,” Carlos says sternly, adamantly. TK raises his eyebrows at him. “Furthermore,” he continues. “This is not your fault.” 

TK peers up at him from under his ridiculous eyelashes and furrows his brow. 

“What do you mean? I didn’t—” his voice dies in the back of his throat and he looks so small and embarrassed curled up against the passenger side door. 

Carlos sighs and takes TK’s hand in his. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, takes a moment to breathe and make sure that TK understands what he’s about to say. He lightly traces his thumb over the back of TK’s hand and squeezes. 

“You think it’s okay for you to deal with this by yourself because you got yourself into this? Because you weren't careful enough?” Carlos starts. TK blinks at him with wide surprised eyes. “That’s not how this works, _mi amor._ Someone else screwed up and now you’re sick because of it. We were all there, we all could have kept a better eye out. Even if it was your fault-- which it isn’t-- you still deserve to be taken care of. You will always, _always,_ deserve that. It doesn’t matter if you drink a malt, or you’re struggling not to use, or you get hurt doing something stupid at work. I am here, and I will keep being here, to take care of you, even if it's your fault that you’re not okay. That's what a relationship is, TK. I’m not going to abandon you when you need me the most.” 

“Oh,” TK whispers. 

Carlos squeezes TK’s hand again, flicks his turn signal back on, and pulls back onto the road. It’s quiet the rest of the way to Carlos’ place. In his periphery, Carlos can see TK open and close his mouth several times. He huffs a couple times, and shakes his head as though he’s trying to erase his thoughts from an etch-a-sketch board. But ultimately he says nothing the rest of the drive. 

When they pull into Carlos’ garage, it’s clear that TK’s brain is still sputtering. Carlos slides himself out of the driver's seat and loops around to open the passenger door. He takes TK’s hand, keeps the blanket draped over TK’s shoulders, and pulls him up to stand with him. He wraps his arms around TK’s waist and pulls him close, not caring that TK looks and smells particularly awful. 

“However, that doesn’t,” Carlos places a kiss on TK’s forehead, “give you free reign” a kiss on his cheek, “to get shot again,” a gentle kiss on his shoulder. 

TK takes another deep breath, clearly still overwhelmed, and Carlos smiles into the crook of his neck. 

“Come on, babe. Let’s get you settled into bed.”

TK has the audacity to wink at him. 

Their night is full of fitful sleep. Carlos wakes several times when his weight is displaced in bed and the bathroom light flicks on. The first few times, Carlos joins TK in the bathroom, sits on the edge of the tub to rub his back, wets a washcloth to wipe the sweat off his boyfriend’s forehead, pads downstairs to refill TK’s water bottle with fresh water and an electrolyte tablet. 

The final time, when the sun is starting to color the sky a soft pink, TK kisses his cheek when he gets up. 

“I’m fine babe, go back to sleep.”

And Carlos does. 

He wakes again, hours later, to the sunlight streaming through his window, painting TK’s gorgeous features with a soft morning glow. He’s still too pale for Carlos’ liking, but he’s sleeping soundly, which is an improvement from his fitful bathroom runs overnight. Carlos once again takes TK’s water bottle downstairs to refill, and places it on the nightstand at TK’s side. 

He sits in his kitchen for a while, flipping through his cookbooks, trying to find the best post-gluten brunch to make. It can’t be too heavy, so he goes by the warm, soft, easy to digest rule, and starts working on some banana pancakes. Breakfast potatoes and eggs will come later once TK is actually awake. 

Around noon, he hears movement upstairs so he tosses the potatoes in a pan with some olive oil, salt, and herbs. The pancakes are stacked on a plate and staying warm in the oven, and he’s got more than enough eggs whipped up.

TK comes padding down the stairs minutes later. His hair is sticking up on one side, he’s got deep purple bags under his eyes, and he still looks exhausted, but he’s grinning at Carlos from the bottom of the stairs. Carlos thinks he’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. 

TK throws himself onto one of the barstools at Carlos’ counter and leans with his chin on both hands to gaze over at Carlos.

“Very sexy of you to be making me easy-to-digest foods after I shit my brains out for hours on end.”

Carlos points a spatula at him. 

“Easy, Tiger. You’re not well enough to jump my bones just yet.” 

TK leans back and puts his hands up in mock surrender. 

“I think I’d fall asleep on top of you if we tried anything,” TK laughs. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

Carlos leans across the counter to give him a quick peck. TK leans forward slightly as he tries to chase his lips over the counter. They both fall silent as Carlos turns to finish up the potatoes.

After a minute or two, Carlos can feel something shift, and TK gets fidgety on his barstool. He lowers the temperature on the potato pan, scoops the crispy potatoes onto a plate, and pours the eggs in. 

“I can hear you thinking from over here,” he says softly. 

“There isn’t any gluten in this house anymore,” TK says, surprising him. “Is there?”

Carlos turns to look at him, and the look TK is giving him is contemplative, but so very soft.

“No,” Carlos says. “There is no gluten in this house anymore.”

The corner of TK’s mouth pulls up and he bites his bottom lip a little. His head tilts and he rests his chin on his hand. 

“You’re something else, Carlos Reyes.” 

“I told you TK. I’m going to take care of you.”

“Yeah,” TK says, awed. “You did.” 

Carlos plates the pancakes, eggs, and potatoes, and places the plate and a fresh glass of water in front of TK. 

“Eat your pancakes, _mi amor_.” 

TK does. 

~~~

Several weeks later, Carlos startles awake in bed, and immediately turns the light on when he can’t find TK in the dark. He’s been having nightmares lately, since the bank robbery, since the bomber, since his suspension. Since he found TK slumped over a table with a nasty head wound, eyes glazed and slurring his words. 

“Relax, babe,” TK’s voice calls from the bathroom door. “I was just peeing.” 

Carlos studies his boyfriend from across the room. He looks fine, his cheeks are flushed from sleep, his pajama pants are hanging low on his hips-- which is almost enough to derail Carlos’ current train of thought-- and his bedhead is outrageous. 

“You weren’t sick?” Carlos asks, confused. 

TK looks puzzled. 

“Why would I be sick?”

“I had a dream that you--”

TK crosses the room and closes the space between them in a flash of worried movement. He climbs back into bed and places himself practically in Carlos’ lap, knees placed on the bed on either side of Carlos’ hips. From here, Carlos can see the faded bullet scar on TK’s shoulder, the fresh, angry scar on TK’s temple. He thinks of TK in a hospital bed, he thinks of TK bent over the fire house toilet, he thinks of TK with his head wrapped in bandages, and he can’t form a proper thought. 

TK must take his confused silence for something more sinister because his eyebrows knit together, and he reaches for Carlos’ hand, “Babe. Baby. I’m here. I’m okay. Whatever you dreamt, it’s over. We’re safe, we’re at home, we’re in bed.”

Carlos shakes his head, “No this was-- you were eating a bagel, and I couldn't stop you, and I thought for sure you were gonna be si--”

Carlos is interrupted by TK’s loud, surprised laugh. 

“Babe,” he says with a grin. “Did you have a gluten stress dream?” 

“I--” Carlos says, as he looks around the room, recognizing fully for the first time that he is indeed in bed, and it’s the middle of the night. “Maybe?” 

TK pushes his weight against Carlos to settle them both back in bed and peppers Carlos’ face with kisses. 

“I have those every month or so,” he explains. “Just have a dream where I'm eating something I shouldn't be, and then I wake up convinced I’m about to shit the bed.”

Carlos looks wide-eyed at TK, “that’s a thing?”

“Yeah, the last one I had I was very determined to try a brownie oreo ice cream sundae that was a new featured item at Starbucks, and that definitely does not exist.”

Carlos almost feels embarrassed about this weird dream he had, but his feelings are wiped away when TK rolls off him, throws an arm around him, and burrows into his side. 

“Tell Dream Carlos not to worry,” TK says, closing his eyes. “My boyfriend will keep me safe.”

“Yeah,” Carlos says, tucking his chin on top of TK’s head and wrapping both arms around him to pull him close, “I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> To learn more about celiac disease, click [here](https://celiac.org/about-celiac-disease/what-is-celiac-disease/).
> 
> If you've been around any of my social media sites, you might now that I am extremely passionate about disability rights and chronic illness rep. One of my favorite past times is (lovingly) giving a fictional character one of the many illnesses I have and giving people fluffy fic that also teaches you something in the process. 
> 
> I've seen a couple fics in various fandoms that talk about celiac, but they don't do it quite right. I got diagnosed in 2018 and despite being a nurse, I was blindsided by how much my life changed with a celiac diagnosis. I did have to deep clean my apartment, I did have to replace a lot of kitchen utensils, and I may or may not have cried in Safeway over a loaf of french bread. I also have spit out a mouthful of milkshake in a restaurant before, and I just think that has such big TK energy I had to include it. 
> 
> I think celiac disease is often perceived as one of the more of the more "easy" autoimmune diseases because you just have to stop eating gluten. In reality it's a lifetime of constant vigilance since gluten can hide on surface and kitchen utensils. Most of my family and friends all have a stash of special cutting boards, utensils, and pots and pans so that I can eat safely when I visit. The big things to take away from this is that its hard to get a diagnosis despite having an easy way of screening, there's a lot of grief that comes with a diagnosis like this, and that celiac is really hard. Your body decides to attack your small intestine if you eat gluten and does damage that takes years to heal. Even a speck of gluten is a setback. I personally get more ill when I'm glutened the farther out I get from my diagnosis. The longer my body goes without seeing it, the more violent reaction I have when there's an accident.
> 
> P.S. The rainbow pots and pans are real you can find them [here](https://www.thymeandtablekitchen.com/product-page/cookware-set). I absolutely think Carlos would have them in that fancy condo of his.


End file.
